


In the Crooks of Your Body, I Find My Religion

by daisygrl



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, and they were quarantinemates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisygrl/pseuds/daisygrl
Summary: Several weeks after Zelda's death and resurrection, a mysterious illness sweeps through Greendale. When Mary and Zelda find themselves quarantined alone together at the Spellman Mortuary, they find themselves getting to know one another better than either of them could have imagined.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 80
Kudos: 192
Collections: And They Were Quarantinemates





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written under the premise that Mary never had her memory wiped by Sabrina at the end of season 3. Mary is going to deal with what happened to her and Zelda is going to help. Also, whatever happened in canon after Mary shot Zelda was so grossly and maddeningly opaque that I gave myself a headache just trying to figure it all out. Enjoy, and let me know what you think if you like! I love reading your comments and I really, really appreciate them.

It was a scorching Saturday in mid-May, and Mary was looking at the woman she had killed with a revolver examining bushels of peaches at the farmer’s market. It couldn’t be. Not that Mary had any reason to believe her own eyes. After what she had been through, neither sensory input nor instinct could convince her of much of anything. For her to concede that something was real, it would have to be corroborated by someone she trusted, and at the present moment no one she knew could be categorized as such. It had to be the heat. A trick of the light, perhaps. She had had a little too much wine the previous night. It could not be Zelda Spellman.

And yet, it was. She was wearing her usual uniform of stiff wool, even though it was ninety degrees outside and anyone but her would have been glistening with unbecoming sweat. Zelda prowled the aisles, tossing her long hair behind her when she realized people were staring. Narrowing her eyes when she couldn’t pinpoint exactly whose gaze she felt on the back of her neck. Mary stood behind a stack of canned peas, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. When the redhead disappeared from her sightline, Mary didn’t make a conscious decision to follow her. Instead, she found herself between two cases of loose leaf oolong, peering out at a witch who was infuriatingly, inexplicably alive.

Zelda stopped for a moment at a pyramid of glistening red apples, tossing one in the air. Their elastic skin gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Mary found her mouth watering. It was as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She moved slowly, deliberately. Pacing the aisles like a satiated panther: a predator completely at ease. 

The market was set up in concentric rings, and Mary moved along the safety of the shelves, observing Zelda as she shuffled between slabs of fudge, roasted almonds, and candied pecans. She stopped to look at the jars of local honey, a heap of gold and buttery cream. _ So, Zelda has a sweet tooth. _ She watched as the witch selected an opaque, brick-red jar of blackberry creamed honey. She put it in her basket among sprigs of aromatic herbs and a loaf of sourdough with a floury, cracked crust.

It made her seem almost human. 

It was difficult to hate her when she spent too long caressing bottles of maple syrup. Or when she popped a sour grape in her mouth and made a face as she choked it down. She almost laughed when Zelda got chastised by a cashier for squeezing the apricots, and felt a pang when she saw that it made her blush. 

And yet, it had to be her. If the Spellmans were witches - and witches were responsible for whatever had happened to her, that much she was certain of - then it would have had to have been Zelda. They had met exactly once, at an awkward parent-teacher conference. Both women had been on edge for reasons that Mary hadn’t been able to pinpoint. Something about the other woman had given her a hot, uncomfortable itch in the pit of her stomach. For so long, she had been unable to understand what it was that the Spellmans believed in, but it had always been clear that Zelda believed in it more fervently, more dogmatically, than the rest of her clan. Finding out from her had, of course, been impossible; Zelda’s reticence about her personal affairs was so excessive that it bordered on arrogance. And yet, Mary had surprised herself when she found herself thinking about her grey eyes as she made herself tea that night. And the night after. 

She had spent decades scouring books and microfiches at the library and learning everything she could about Greendale’s hopeless entanglement with the occult. Unfortunately, none of it had been of much use when push had actually come to shove. One morning, she had woken up in October and stepped outside into a vicious February snowstorm, and nothing in this world or the next could bring her back. She grieved for her life before, deeply and constantly. A volatile stew of fear, shame, and anger pulsed within her from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night, and she was tired of lugging around its ugly dead weight. The doctor she had visited hadn’t been able to begin formulating a diagnosis for her condition. And so, she carried it alone. 

Watching Zelda shop for groceries made her seem almost human, but it didn’t change the fact that that wasn’t what she was. 

Mary looked around, alarmed. Zelda wasn’t standing where she had been just a moment prior. She craned her neck, peering carefully over the edges of some woven baskets. There was no sign of her by the cash, and the distinctive flash of her red hair was conspicuously absent in the throng of Saturday morning shoppers.  _ Damn it _ . Mary abandoned her own basket, straightened her glasses, and walked quickly out of the building. Something about the situation made her nervous, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if Zelda had seen her, for pity’s sake. She looked around once before bolting towards her car. She always made sure to get to the market early on Saturday mornings, so, luckily, she had been able to snap up a parking spot close to the front entrance. Even on good days, she hated crowds.

She made it to the door of her blue sedan, breathing heavily. The oppressive heat, made worse by the blazing sun and the rhythmic drone of cicadas in the trees, made her feel dizzy and weak. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She leaned her forehead against the window, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

She felt a hard tap on her shoulder and turned around, only to find herself looking into Zelda Spellman’s dark, narrowed eyes.

“Surprised to see me?”

Mary opened her mouth to answer, but found that it was impossible. The dark that had been bleeding into the edges of her vision spilled over.


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda caught Mary in her arms as she went down. The woman was even lighter than she looked, but Zelda still stumbled under her weight as she tried to find her footing. Carefully, she shifted a couple of feet to the left and managed to prop her up on a nearby picnic table.

Mary’s eyelashes fluttered and she groaned slightly. “What happened?” She grimaced and shook her head. “Do you know how sick I am of asking myself that question?” 

Zelda took a long drag of her cigarette and nodded, exhaling slowly. “I can imagine.” Her voice was soft, and for a moment she looked almost concerned. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You were following me around the market, no doubt surprised to see me alive and well, since you shot me at point-blank range and watched me bleed out in my foyer. You fainted when I crept up on you from behind.” There was a twitch of something - sadistic amusement? - in Zelda’s face. “It probably wasn’t the best tactic, to be fair.” 

Mary nodded vehemently in agreement. “So, how are you alive right now? I thought that witches tended to stay dead, even the powerful ones.” 

Zelda chuckled dryly. “I can see why. Greendale has a long and bloody history proving that to be the case. It took a different kind of magic to bring me back.” She narrowed her eyes. “We can get back to that. What I want to know is why you shot me in the first place.” 

Mary was teetering giddily on the edge of abandon, flush with adrenaline. The sheer absurdity of the situation was beginning to sink in. “You can’t be serious.” 

She couldn’t imagine why Zelda would falsely deny her involvement in orchestrating her current predicament. It wasn’t as if the witch had any investment whatsoever in Mary’s opinion of her, nor was it possible that Mary represented any sort of threat. The last person to have been intimidated by her was a jock who hadn’t turned his English homework in on time. However, when she searched Zelda’s face for traces of mockery, she was surprised to find only earnest confusion. 

Mary knit her eyebrows together. “You really haven’t the faintest clue, have you?” 

Zelda rolled her eyes. “I can’t begin to divine what in Lilith’s name you are talking about.”

This elicited a mirthless laugh. Mary shrugged. “Fine. Okay. What on earth have I got to lose?” She inhaled harshly and sprung up from the picnic table. “Let’s go for a drive.” She turned and walked back towards her car, kicking clouds of dust into the warm spring air. 

***

Zelda and Mary sat together in Mary’s car, speeding down a country lane. The sound of a twangy guitar was coming from the radio. Zelda dug in her purse for a moment, produced a cigarette, and rolled down the window on the passenger side. Mary raised an eyebrow, but elected not to say anything. Her heart was racing. Was it really in her best interest to tell Zelda anything? In light of recent events, was it even in her best interest to be alone in a car with her? She sat still and kept her eyes trained forward, watching the broken white lines on the road go by. Finally, when she was sure she could trust her voice, she broke the silence between them.

“I wanted so badly to believe that after all these months, someone had finally come in to check on me. And I was ready to pour all of me into the first person who came through my door.” She paused until she was able to continue. “When I saw that it was Adam, I could have cried, I was so relieved.” She sniffled. “When I hugged him, though, everything felt wrong. He didn’t smell like himself. There was a faint scent of _burning_ that lingered around him, even though I know he didn’t smoke.” She looked pointedly at Zelda, who rolled her eyes and stubbed her cigarette out in the cupholder. “I had known in my heart for many months that he was gone. And I didn’t really believe for a second that he had come back.” She looked down for a moment, watching as tears dripped freely from the end of her nose into her lap.

The face - _her face_ \- haunted her. She had spent so long ruminating on possible explanations for the interloper’s appearance, she wasn’t even sure if she was able to entertain unrelated thoughts anymore. Did she have an identical twin she had never been made aware of? Had it been a hallucination? If so, what was the cause? Could it have been a short-lived illness, or had she unknowingly been under the influence of psychoactive drugs?

What was more, none of these suggestions covered potential supernatural causes. An occult explanation, while difficult to prove, seemed rather more likely. However, she couldn’t fathom what witches could possibly want with her. She had little personal connection to witchcraft, with the exception of a pet interest in Greendale’s occult roots. Perhaps whatever had stolen her face hadn’t been a witch at all.

A looming shadow fell over the small car. “Careful, Mary!” Zelda grabbed the wheel with a gloved hand, steadying their course. The driver of a passing eighteen-wheeler flipped them the bird, blaring the horn as he passed. Zelda stared at her unlikely companion, who didn’t seem fazed at all by the sudden interference.

“You are clearly in no state to drive. I don’t know what possessed me to come with you in the first place. What are you going to do, drive back to the farmer’s market once you’ve dumped my body in a ditch on the side of the highway?” The shrillness in her tone betrayed her sudden fear that this suggestion wasn’t far off the mark. Mary didn’t answer, her blue eyes fixated on the horizon. “Mary!” 

“What?” Mary snapped. “Don’t touch the wheel while I’m driving. I know what I’m doing.”

They sat in tense silence for a moment. Finally, Zelda sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m only suggesting we pull over and take a break.”

Mary shot her a sidelong glance, and pulled over into a clump of fat red clovers in the shade of an elm tree. She took a long sip of tea from her thermos, trying to ignore the shaking of her hand and hoping that Zelda wouldn’t notice.“I shot you because I thought you had something to do with Adam’s death. And because I was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown.”

Zelda’s looked at her, aghast. “Me? Why would I want to hurt your fiancé? I had never even met the man. Also -” she took out a book of matches and struck one out of thin air “-I would argue that you had quite crossed the line into the realm of nervously breaking down.” She lit the end of another cigarette, ignoring Mary’s cutting glare. “Believe me, I would know.”

Mary stared at the spontaneous flame for a moment. “That’s what I was getting at.” She stroked her steering wheel with her thumb for a moment. “If you would be so kind as to allow me to finish.”

The redheaded witch coughed, nodding vigorously and waving her arm to dispel some of the thick smoke. “By all means.”

Mary continued. “As I was saying, I was in a vulnerable state. I allowed Adam into my home, even though I wasn’t certain that he was who he said he was. Looking back, it was a mistake.”

Zelda looked at her quizzically. “Why would you say that?”

“Because of what followed.” Mary looked down at her hands. The rest of the story was difficult for her to talk about. All the pain and grief she had felt losing Adam the first time rushed back, and she felt that she might choke on it. “A clergyman with atrocious fingernails came to my door several minutes later. I allowed him in, but only because I feared I would put myself at risk as an obstacle. Feigned naivete seemed the safest course of action.” She looked over at Zelda, who had suddenly become very pale.

The witch closed her eyes. “Was he a slimy, abominable little man who seemed unable to convincingly play the part?”

Mary nodded. “Exactly. So, you do know him. Is he a part of your clan?”

Zelda scowled. “Absolutely not.” She didn’t offer up any more information. Instead, she smoked in silence, turning slightly to face the window. 

“I didn’t trust either of them. I figured I would let them have at it, and slip away quietly when I had the chance. I keep a gun stashed in my garden shed, though I never imagined needing it for an emergency of the supernatural variety.”

Zelda turned back towards Mary. “And so, you decided to use it on any witch you could lay your hands on. Any dead witch is a good witch to you hunters, isn’t that right?” She scoffed. “A veritable zero-sum game.”

Mary recoiled at the suggestion. “Perish the thought! I’m not a witch-hunter. I just -”

“Just what?” Zelda retaliated. “You just thought you could do away with the first acceptable substitute.”

Mary shook her head. “That’s not quite true. Look -” she paused for a moment, wringing her hands, not quite sure how to continue. “I don’t need to explain to you that I thought I had gone mad. I knew you were witches, all of you. I was also quite certain that you were to blame, or at the very least involved, in what had happened to me. Shooting you was the only way I could think of to avenge my Adam, and maybe, somehow, get my life back. I’m not pretending I was thinking rationally.”

Zelda nodded. “That much is clear.” She turned the dial of the radio slightly to the right. Whatever was playing on another channel couldn’t possibly be as bad as the music they were listening to.

“The worst part was the woman,” Mary confessed. She fiddled with a loose stitch on her cardigan.

Zelda felt her blood run cold. _What woman?_ “Excuse me?”

Mary trembled. “She had my face, but off, somehow. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. I knew she had been the one who had tricked me, but I -” her voice cracked, and she put her face in her hands. “I ran and let him have her. And I knew that I was leaving her in terrible danger, but I left anyway.”

Zelda felt a vicious spike of guilt that made her want to throw up. She felt suddenly lightheaded and dizzy, threw her cigarette out the window, and rested her forehead in the heel of her palm. 

  
Suddenly, the music was interrupted by the radio announcer. _CITIZENS OF GREENDALE: IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT REMAIN OUT OF DOORS. I REPEAT, DO NOT REMAIN OUT OF DOORS._


	3. Chapter 3

The two women looked at each other. “For Lilith’s sake. What do you suppose that was that all about?” Zelda murmured. She turned the volume up to see if any more information was coming. 

“Zelda?” Mary pointed towards the horizon. The wind had picked up, and droplets of rain were dotting the windshield. In the distance, what looked like a wave of flickering grey was slowly approaching the vehicle. As it came closer, it was clear that the rows of wheat in the fields were undergoing some kind of spontaneous decay. The once golden florets were shriveling into desiccated husks before their eyes, and the stalks and leaves were curling up and fizzling into smoky piles of ash. The whole field looked as though it was catching ablaze, but there was not a lick of flame in sight.

Zelda watched the rot approaching, eyes wide. She turned to Mary. “Drive,” she said.

“What?”

“I said, drive! Now!” The witch held up her hands and muttered a simple warding spell, enveloping the car in a protective shield. 

Mary didn’t need to be told twice. She shifted the car into gear and made a forceful U-turn, ignoring the crunch and spray of gravel beneath the wheel. They sped down the highway in the opposite direction, Zelda looking behind her every so often as she muttered to herself in Latin.

Mary looked towards Zelda, eyes wide with fear. “What the hell was that?” Zelda had her hands over her temples and her eyes screwed tightly shut, as if she was experiencing a migraine. Mary realized she had no idea if witches were able to get sick, or if Zelda had ever gotten a migraine before. She placed her hand on the witch’s shoulder, which only made her flinch. “Are you alright?” She asked quietly.

Zelda exhaled slowly. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t of this realm. I felt a horrible sensation, like static behind my eyes, as soon as I saw it.” Her eyes snapped open. “Take us back to your cottage. I’ll cast a charm over it to make sure you’re not exposed to whatever this is, and then cut through the woods back to my house. It’ll be faster than taking the road all the way around.”

“Absolutely not,” Mary insisted. “I’ll be safe in my car, and I’m taking you back to your house so you can check on the others.” She frowned. “Wait, what about your car? Isn’t it still at the market?”

Zelda shook her head. “No, Hilda dropped me off. She must be at that tawdry bookshop she works at.” Mary looked confused for a moment. “Dr. Cerberus’,” Zelda explained. “He’s her fiance as well as her manager. Lilith only knows how they make  _ that _ work.”

Mary gave her a sympathetic look. “You don’t approve of them together?”

“It’s not that,” Zelda muttered darkly. “He’s fine. However, I can’t pretend I was ecstatic that she jumped ship, only to leave me with the family business to run, as well as a coven to lead. Anyway,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. Thank you for taking me home.”

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes. The static hum of the radio seemed to buzz louder with every passing second. Finally, Zelda reached out and smacked it. “That’s better.” She waited for a moment, then straightened her back, as if she had made up her mind about something. She turned her whole body towards Mary, who kept her eyes on the road in front of her. “Was it me, specifically, that you came for? The night you killed me?”

At first, Mary couldn’t think of a way to answer. They drove on, Zelda’s gaze boring into the side of Mary’s face. Finally, she sighed. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I think it mostly had to do with the fact that you were the one who answered the door.” She paused. “Do you remember the first time we met?” Zelda nodded slowly, confused. “I knew you were the leader of your clan -”

“ _ Coven _ ,” Zelda corrected. “Or family. We haven’t been a clan since Scotland, and that was centuries ago.”

Mary nodded. “Fine - in this instance, I suppose I’m thinking of your family. I’ve met your sister dozens of times, and I admit that, from what I’ve heard from her and Sabrina, I was left with a certain impression of what you might be like.”

Zelda chuckled. “And what might that have been?”

“Authoritative.” Mary confirmed, “Steadfast in your convictions. And, most importantly, heavily involved in your church. Much more so than your family members.” She backtracked slightly at the look of stunned betrayal on Zelda’s face. “Most of this information was not shared with me outright. I just tend to listen carefully, and I’m very good at piecing together errant bits of information. That’s why I became a historian. And an English teacher.”

“So you surmised that I was the one who spearheaded the campaign to ruin your life,” Zelda affirmed, “because of your correct presumption that I might be the head witch in charge, as it were. And when I opened the door to you, in your deteriorated mental state, you saw no choice but to do away with the person you held responsible for that state. Am I missing anything?” 

“No. All of that is true.” Mary felt shaky and nauseous. The events of the previous weeks had been difficult for her to think about, and talking about them was even worse. In the months since she had woken up from her stupor, her sense of a kind of upset in the fabric of her reality had grown progressively more intense. Sometimes her heart would begin to race for no reason at all, and the world seemed to quiver in front of her eyes. Sounds seemed as though they were coming from very far away. Once in a while, a student or colleague would pick up on the fact that she had completely lost focus on whatever conversation she was supposed to be following. 

The bitterest pill to swallow was the compulsion to compartmentalize. There was so much she had had to bury; thoughts and feelings that had no place in her day-to-day life. She would fold away anything that overwhelmed her, only to have it surface in her nightmares. Or worse, during rare moments of respite. For the most part, she ruminated on the dead time; who she could have been, what she could possibly have seen and done. Demonic specters appeared to her at all hours of the night, and it didn’t matter whether she was asleep or not. They imprinted themselves on the insides of her eyelids and danced there until the sun rose.

She had spent the night after the event lying awake, wondering how she could possibly face her students the next morning. When it came down to it, though, she had been shocked by the ease with which she had pushed aside the atrocities of the previous night. It terrified her; what else could have happened during the dead time that she might have forgotten? What, indeed, could have pushed her to forget so completely? In the deepest, most wounded corners of her psyche, the unthinkable chittered and yawned.  _ Could it be possible that Zelda wasn’t the only one? _

She was snapped out of her reverie by a yelp to her right. Zelda was pointing to the window, where a large gnat had met its demise on the glass. Another appeared, and then another, until the car was all but covered with wriggling insects. “I won’t be able to ward this off for long,” she said through gritted teeth. “We’re barely safe in here as it is. When we park at the mortuary, you need to run to the door. We have a latticework of protection charms and defensive hexes insulating the property.”

Mary looked at her, eyes widening in horror. “How will I be able to make it through?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Just do as I said.” Zelda’s face had become very pale. Her eyebrows were drawn together in concentration as she began to chant again under her breath.  When they pulled up onto the gravel leading up to the mortuary, Zelda looked at her and nodded. 

The seconds it took for Mary to reach the front door seemed to happen in slow motion. She heard a distant buzzing overtop of the echoing drumbeat of her own heart. A resistance surrounded her as she approached, like a tensile membrane that would break her before it saw a breach. Zelda shouted something in Latin, and she felt the cool release of tension, a cloudburst in the middle of a pressure change. Zelda followed her up the stairs. Both women stood on the porch, gasping for air. They watched as thick, grey clouds gathered on the horizon. A kind of crackling energy buzzed at the perimeter of the property. Mary could see it probing the defense, seeping through the cracks. 

Zelda looked at Mary. “Get behind me,” she ordered. She held up her hands, red hair whipping furiously in the wind. Mary could feel her magic, frenzied and raw, as she channeled all of her power into repairing cracks in the facade. The wind subsided somewhat, and Zelda, panting, placed a hand on the porch banister to steady herself. She pointed towards the doormat. “There’s a key under there.”

Mary found the key and unlocked the door. Noticing that Zelda was still worn out, she went to help her.

“I’m fine!” Zelda held up a hand. “Just go inside.”

Mary rolled her eyes and took her by the elbow anyway. “Let’s just go together, shall we?” They walked in tandem across the porch and over the threshold. It seemed to Mary like an absurd version of the tradition she and Adam had never had the chance to carry out. It was a shame. She would have said yes to him in a heartbeat if he had proposed.

Once inside, Zelda pulled a small compact mirror out of her purse. “I need to check in with my family, and it looks like both of us are stuck here for the time being. I suggest you go to Hilda’s room - up the stairs, to the right - and try to settle in. I’ll bring you some clothes in a moment.” She opened the mirror with a click, licked her thumb and drew a circle on the glass. Throwing a last look at Mary, she tried to make her way into the kitchen, only to be stopped by Mary’s hand on her shoulder.

Mary swallowed nervously. “Are you sure you want me here?”

“What are my options? Sending you back out, only to risk a breach to the protective perimeter? I’m not sure if you noticed, but it takes a tremendous amount of effort to maintain,” Zelda deadpanned.

“After everything that’s happened -”

Zelda was already on her way into the kitchen. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mary. You’re hardly the only murderer to have crossed the threshold into this house.” She was out of sight before Mary could think to ask her what she meant.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Mary was a sight to behold the next morning when she came into the kitchen. Zelda hadn’t realized how truly bizarre some of Hilda’s clothing was. She had gallantly offered Mary some of her own nighttime attire, only to be met with wide-eyed disbelief. It was as if the woman had never worn a silk negligee before. 

“Coffee?” Mary stepped into the sunlight. Her hair was strewn about her thin shoulders, and her cheeks and collarbones were highlighted with gold. Zelda felt her breath catch, and she quickly averted her gaze.

“It’s in the cupboard, on the right. There’s an espresso maker on the stove.” She kept reading, sneaking glances every so often over the top of her newspaper. Unfortunately, she wasn’t immune to Mary’s soft scent, a cross between fresh bread and peonies. The kitchen looked lighter just for having her in the room. She drifted about as if on a cloud, seemingly skittish about her presence. Her steps on the kitchen floor were silent, and she took care with every cupboard she opened, and every drawer she closed. 

Zelda had always found Mary fascinating, if a bit demure. Too smart for their town, and certainly too perceptive to be allowed anywhere near her. _ Not that that slowed her down much _ , Zelda thought to herself. Somehow, she had found out too much about a witch whose sole desire was to remain anonymous among mortals. And that made Zelda nervous.

She wasn’t surprised that Mary seemed anxious, given the somewhat unusual nature of their situation. The reality of their situation was beginning to sink in. Zelda wondered absently if Mary wouldn’t snap again and decide to finish the job. She was also thoroughly conscious of the fact that Mary might hold similar misgivings about her. She wasn’t exactly the picture of comfort and reassurance.

Her death had been a prolonged and painful ordeal. The bullet had entered just underneath her rib cage, and she remembered a moment of shock and fear before the pain had set in. And the cold. She had been lucid enough wandering around limbo, but the moments before and in-between seeped into one another like ink. Time meant little in the netherrealm. She may as well have spent a lifetime there, dazed and dreaming. She had been lucky enough to wake up to the safety of Sabrina’s arms, comforting and warm, tethering her to the world she desperately hadn’t wanted to leave behind.

She had never asked Hilda what it felt like when she died. She didn’t like to think about it, but the questions wormed their way into her mind and settled there: wriggling, rotting, and impossible to ignore. She had once overheard Hilda answering a young Sabrina’s questions about one of her deaths, and she had never forgotten the way Hilda had maneuvered around the grisly details of it all. Most of all, she had never forgotten the way Hilda had tried so hard to paint Zelda as redeemable, when it was so readily and shamefully apparent that it was untrue.

_ “Auntie Hilda, why does aunt Zelda kill you?” A twelve-year-old Sabrina sat at the kitchen table opposite Hilda, who was chopping onions for a stew. _

_ Hilda put down her knife, wiped her forehead with her sleeve, and sighed. “Your aunt knows that it won’t be long before I come back. She does it sometimes when she has too many feelings, and she doesn’t know what to do with them.” _

_ Sabrina frowned. “I really hate it when she does that. I don’t think it’s right, and I want her to stop.” _

_ Hilda cupped Sabrina’s chin in her hand. “I know, lamb. I’m not trying to excuse her behaviour. The thing is-” she picked up her knife and began chopping again “- there’s a lot you don’t know about your aunt. She didn’t have it easy growing up, and she’s trying her best to be a better person than our father was. Sometimes she stumbles.” _

_ “You had the same childhood!” Sabrina protested loudly. _

_ Hilda shook her head. “Oh, my darling. If only that were true,” she said quietly. It seemed as though she wanted to tell Sabrina something else, but decided against it, instead moving on to a pile of carrots to her right. The silence between them was heavy with the things that they had both elected not to say. _

_ Sabrina stared at the table for a while, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, she shook her head. “I still don’t think that’s any excuse for the way she treats you.” She met her aunt’s wide blue eyes. Her voice wavered slightly, and it cracked on the last syllable. “What does it feel like? When you die?” _

_ Hilda smiled. “Just like falling asleep.” It was impossible to tell whether she was lying or not. _

The shame of that memory leaked into Zelda’s blood and shrieked in her bones. Its quiet, grinding weight was enough to take the breath out of her as she lay awake at night, listening to her sister breathe beside her. To atone was impossible; even her own death hadn’t alleviated the guilt she felt for slaying Hilda. Not to mention her remorse for the kind of example she had set for Sabrina. If anything, knowing what she knew now about the pain and cold that waited beyond the barrier, she felt it even more acutely than before. There was a self-serving part of her that thrived off of indulging in her own guilt. And it was that part of her that wanted to shake Mary’s hand and thank her, for finally doling out the punishment she so richly deserved, and for doing so with a flourish. 

The soft tinkle of a cup of coffee in a saucer pulled Zelda away from the bleakness of her thoughts. She watched as Mary set out spoons and napkins, followed by a cream jug and a sugar bowl. When she was done setting the table, she sat down in Hilda’s usual spot and took a sip of her coffee. The silence between them was surprisingly easy. Mary caught her eye and gave her a hesitant smile, which made a deep blush crawl up Zelda’s neck. It wasn’t like her to be caught staring. She quickly poured cream and too much sugar into her coffee, ignoring her loudly beating heart.  _ Get a hold of yourself,  _ she thought, pushing aside the strange sensation she felt pulsing within her.

“Thank you, Mary. This looks wonderful.” She took a sip of her coffee and eyed the other woman. “How did you sleep?”

Mary’s face fell. “Not well, I’m afraid. I don’t tend to sleep through the night anymore.”

“Is that so?” Zelda frowned. “Why do you think that is?” She didn’t really need Mary’s answer to know why it was that the other woman wasn’t sleeping. She herself had passed many a sleepless night posing the same kinds of questions she was sure Mary was grappling with. However, if the other woman felt inclined to answer, it might help put her more at ease.

“Nightmares,” Mary began. Zelda stared at her, nodding subtly. Mary looked into her coffee, stirring it absentmindedly with her spoon. “I’ve been getting awful nightmares ever since I woke up from my...stupor.” She looked up. “Do you ever feel like your body hasn’t always been your own?”

Zelda blinked, stunned. It took her a moment before she was able to answer. “Sometimes,” she managed.

Mary shook her head. “I can’t explain it well, even to myself. It’s just that… my mind and body have always operated as one. I think of an action I want to complete, and I carry it out.” As if to demonstrate, she furled and unfurled her fingers, watching her hand intently as if something was going to go awry. “In the months that I was away,” she continued, “I know that some kind of rupture occurred between my body and my mind. A fissure that never should have existed. As a result, my body continued to operate, betraying no indication that my mind was no longer along for the ride. The nightmares often take me to where I suspect my body has been.”

Zelda’s heart ached for the other woman. Wordlessly, she took a hold of Mary’s hand. Her skin was unusually soft and warm. She stroked the back of her hand gently with her thumb. “I’m sorry.”

Someday, it would fall to her to tell Mary everything. She could talk herself in circles trying to convince herself that it was none of her concern, but she suspected the kernel of empathy she found herself harbouring wouldn’t be quashed that easily. Today, though, she was content to sit with her in comfortable silence. 

Her touch seemed to surprise Mary, but it also seemed to afford her some much-needed reassurance. A couple of tears trailed down her cheeks. She cleared her throat and nodded toward the window. “Have you looked outside yet today?”

Zelda nodded. “It’s unnerving, to say the least.” There was a sharp contrast between the healthy, green grass that grew within the bounds of the Spellman property, and the rotten grey that was constantly pushing up against it. Even at a distance, Zelda could see great clouds of buzzing flies, unsatisfied with the dead plant matter that seemed to be giving off a noxious, billowing funk.

The mortal news had not a single clue as to what was going on, but it hadn’t stopped them from formulating all manner of nonsensical explanations. A freak hailstorm. An invasive pest. A pesticide containing a dangerous chemical, susceptible to spontaneous decay. An accident at a nearby nuclear power plant. The list went on and on.

“I suspect it’s demonic.” She looked pointedly at Mary. “However, demons generally choose a person to whom they attach themselves. They rarely, if ever, exhibit this type of fixation on a particular location. In fact, in the four centuries I’ve been alive, I’ve never seen it happen before.” She took another sip of her coffee. 

“It does remind me of the places I’ve seen in my dreams,” Mary confessed. “There are always insects, dying grass, brambles, and rotting roses that look like bruises all over the ground.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She felt a sudden urge to make her way to the library, eager to begin conducting some real research. If what Mary was saying was true, then the mysterious infestation was almost certainly demonic in nature. After all, Mary had been to Hell, even if she didn’t know it yet.

Mistaking her tense silence for indifference, Mary changed the subject. “Do you think Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose will be able to come back?” She asked cautiously.

Zelda shrugged. “I don’t know. Hilda is more than capable of constructing the same kinds of protective measures we have in place here at Dr. Cerberus’, and Sabrina and Ambrose are safe at the academy. Their boarding school,” she explained, in deference to Mary’s raised eyebrow. She sighed heavily. “I would prefer to have them here,” she admitted. 

Mary seemed to sense the twinge of sadness that accompanied her words. “Perhaps I could make us something nice for dinner,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to poke about in that fabulous greenhouse of yours.”

Zelda nodded. “If you have any trouble identifying something, let me know. Hilda maintains a rather deadly collection of plants - hemlock, deadly nightshade, white snakeroot, among others - and they grow alongside her vegetables and herbs. She knows the layout of her garden so well that she has never seen the need to label her plants in any way. I don’t pretend to know them as well as she does, but I can certainly point out the poisonous ones.” She finished her drink in a long gulp, and stood up quickly from the table. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild TW for Caligari spell mention about halfway through the chapter.
> 
> I drew from Florence Welch's Body of Water and Elizabeth Bishop's One Art to write some of the emotional bits. Why re-invent the wheel? The excerpt from Hesiod comes from here: https://www.theoi.com/Text/HesiodWorksDays.html
> 
> This chapter was one of my favourites to write, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. Please do let me know if I am striking the right balance between developing the relationship and showing some restraint - writing a slow burn is a more frustrating exercise than I would have imagined. I just want to shove them together and have them be happy.

Mary sat up in bed, covered in sweat and shaking, the echoes of a piercing shriek she hadn’t even recognized as her own still ringing in her ears. Outside her door, she could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, ear-splitting in the otherwise silent house. The door to her room swung open, and Zelda emerged from the black, her red hair and pale skin illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through Mary’s window. 

“Mary? What in the _heaven_ is going on here? It sounded as if you were getting strangled in your sleep!” Zelda reached up to adjust the eye mask that was slung askew over her messy curls, glaring at Mary as if her nightmare had been something she had deliberately orchestrated to sabotage Zelda’s sleep.

It was difficult for Mary to feel guilt, or embarrassment, or any other emotion she would normally have experienced in such a situation. She was still wandering through the foggy netherworld of her dream, pacing between diseased elms hung with rotting moss. The image of her fiance's face, contorted in fear or desperation, wouldn’t dissipate, no matter how tightly she shut her eyes. She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Rolling waves of grief washed over her, and she sat up against the headboard, knees drawn up tight against her chest, and tucked her head into her folded arms.

“Mary?” Zelda sounded as though she was very far away. Her voice was soft and gentle, unlike anything Mary had heard come out of her mouth thus far. The first sob was sudden and startlingly heavy. She choked out another, and then another, unable to stop the flood now that it had started. Tears slid messily down her face as the confusion and fear left over from her nightmare spilled over.

She felt a dip in the mattress beside her. Slowly, as though waiting for permission, Zelda lifted the duvet and slid into bed beside her. She felt the warmth of the other woman’s body next to her, the softness of her legs and middle against her own. Still, she remained frozen in place, chest heaving, trying desperately to catch her breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sobbed. “I can’t sleep, I’m scared all the time, and I’m _so_ tired.”

Suddenly, her head and shoulders were wrapped in the warmth of Zelda’s arms, and she smelled cigarettes and roses in the soft copper curls that cascaded onto her cheeks. The scent of decaying roses in the night garden, cloying and sickly sweet, surrendered to the delicate floral scent of Zelda’s perfume. The other woman stroked her hair slowly and gently as she cried, and Mary found herself absently wondering how many times she had been in this particular position, so as to be so very practiced at it. Eventually she gave up wondering altogether and let herself be held, burying her face in the warmth of Zelda’s neck.

It didn’t matter that the woman was a perfect stranger. It didn’t even matter that she had marched over to this very house with the intent of murdering her not three weeks prior. In the dark vastness of her sadness, where she was used to floating alone, there was finally someone there off of whom signals could bounce. Someone who could take what she was feeling, and either absorb it or deflect it. Either way, the burden of her pain was no longer just hers. To feel her own body against someone else’s was novel after years of solitude. Her senses raged and sung, flooded with stimuli, and she took it as welcome, if unfamiliar, confirmation that she was actually there. It had been a tricky thing to prove, lying alone in the dark at home. A bizarre instinct to climb into Zelda’s body and swim, warm and comfortable within her skin, overtook her and made her feel momentarily guilty. It was an impulse that felt familiar, if not exactly of her own fabrication or choosing. She whimpered, though whether it was from shock or relief she couldn’t quite riddle out.

After an eternity of wanting and needing and never getting, she decided, she would commit, lucidly and purposefully, to enjoying her moment of safety. And even if she never felt safe again as long as she lived, she would be able to revisit her time here, cushioned by the dark, tangled up in Zelda’s limbs. Her unlikely roommate, to whom she would most definitely have to apologize tomorrow. It couldn’t possibly last forever; that much was absolutely certain. 

When her breathing had slowed to its regular pace, she lifted her head. Zelda was staring vacantly at the window. It was clear that she, too, had been crying. Mary brushed her cheek with one hand. “Are you alright?”

No answer. A shadow crossed her face and she turned away, pushing Mary’s hand aside. Mary’s heart stopped. The sense of warmth she had been nurturing, precious as a jewel, shattered and sank. To think for even a second that Zelda could really care about her was ludicrous, impossible, and to linger on the prospect as she had been doing was not only embarrassing but also -

“It’s fine. I’m sorry,” Zelda sighed. “I don’t really care to talk about it much, but I want you to know that I’ve been where you are. I know the inability to fall asleep, and I know how it is to wonder whether or not you’ll wake up as yourself.” Her voice was shaky, streaked with harder veins of rage and venom.

Mary waited, silent so as not to alarm the witch, who was already so clearly ill at ease. Talking about her feelings was obviously not something that came naturally to Zelda. She gave a slight nod, encouraging her to continue.

Zelda looked at her warily, clearly struggling with some kind of internal battle. Finally, her desire to express whatever she was thinking seemed to win out. 

“I was married to someone who removed me from my family and stripped me of my ability to control my body. I still can't really talk about it, but I will tell you what I am no longer able to do. I can’t sleep alone. I can’t remember what it is like to feel safe. And, most importantly, I can’t trust myself. My instincts failed me _so_ badly, and, as a result, I have next to no faith in my ability to make a sound judgement.” She spoke quickly, trembling violently despite the warmth of the room. 

“Zelda,” Mary began, the words drying up in her throat even as she spoke. There was nothing she could possibly say to make Zelda know how sorry she was for what had happened to her. 

The witch was fiddling with something around her neck. With a loud _pop_ , she yanked a stone from a silver chain that hung at her throat and thrust it at Mary. “Here. Hilda gave it to me. It’s called a grounding stone. This one is particularly powerful: it’s infused with a special oil blend that is meant to induce a sense of unity between the body and the mind.”

Mary shook her head, eyes wide. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly take it. Don’t you need it?”

Zelda was already lying down with her back to her, having settled into the down comforter and pulled her sleep mask over her eyes. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “Good night, Mary.”

***

Zelda woke up to sunlight streaming through the window and Mary’s arm around her waist. She lay perfectly still for a moment, heart hammering. _Oh, no. What now?_ The last thing she wanted to do was wake a sleepy Mary up before it was time.

The gleam of golden sunlight illuminated her cheekbones and her cupid’s bow, sending glittering streaks through her hair as if to set the entire tangled mass of it ablaze. She resisted the urge to run her hand through it, instead wriggling clumsily among the sheets and limbs before she managed to extricate herself from Mary’s grasp. 

Was it unconventional? Certainly. For the moment, it didn’t bother Zelda. Perhaps they would have some explaining to do once the rest of the Spellmans came home, but for now, she had to admit to herself that she had slept rather well, too.

It helped her to have someone there beside her. She liked the white noise of steady breath, and the knowledge that she wasn’t alone in the dark. She had been hurt and disappointed when Hilda had moved out of their shared room, but not surprised. She knew that it had only been a matter of time until Hilda sought some measure of independence. She was gregarious, sweet. Pleasant to be around. Zelda knew that, unlike her sister, she was destined for a life of solitude. If losing people could be described as an art, then it was one Zelda had unwittingly mastered. It was only the aftermath she hadn’t quite been able to come to grips with.

She shot a glance at her - _were they friends?_ \- roommate, and shook her head. The commotion had had little effect on Mary. She continued to sleep soundly, clutching the stone Zelda had given her in her hand.

Zelda slipped out the door and into the hallway. There were a couple of calls that she needed to make, and it was best to get them out of the way before Mary woke up.

***

“I see. Alright, Sabrina. Whatever you prefer. No, of course I’m not upset. You’re a grown-up witch, and it is entirely your prerogative to spend as much or as little time as you want at home. No, Hilda’s not here either. Neither is Ambrose. I’m sorry - what? I thought he was with you! Oh, I see. A mistake, I’m sure. Well, fine. I suppose I will see you when next you deign to grace me with your presence. Yes, I’m sure. Good-bye.”

Mary waited in the kitchen nervously, nursing a cup of tea and pretending to read. A few moments later, Zelda crossed the threshold into the kitchen, eyes rimmed with red. “Is everything alright?”

Zelda paced the kitchen back and forth, following the diagonal pattern of the cream tiles. The heels of her shoes clicked as she walked, smoking and fretting. 

“No, everything is most certainly not alright. This blasted infestation is getting worse, and I have not a single plausible theory as to what it could be. Look!” Zelda pointed at the window. A fine mist had slowly but surely enveloped the house, ebbing and rolling in waves on the other side of the glass. “It’s demonic. I know it is. Yet, In all the time that I’ve been alive, I have never happened upon a single case of demonic possession that didn’t involve a specific person. It is _people_ whose energy demons feed off of, not places. Not that anyone else,” she continued shrilly, “has lifted one _finger_ to help me work this out. Sabrina is having the time of her life gallivanting unsupervised around the academy, and I can only begin to imagine the commotion she and the others are causing. As for Hilda, I haven’t heard from her in two days. And on top of all of that, I believe that Ambrose has wandered off somewhere, no doubt enjoying his newfound freedom, and that Sabrina is covering for him. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.”

She lifted her cigarette to her mouth and lit the end, hands shaking slightly. When she next spoke, her voice sounded vulnerable and small. “I don’t understand why they didn’t just come home as soon as they heard that something was amiss. Salem is here. _You’re_ here. Why in Lilith’s name would they choose to ride this out separately?”

Mary flashed her a dirty look. “Would you prefer to be in this big house by yourself?”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “I’ve grown accustomed to your presence. Not that I had a choice.” She sat at the kitchen table opposite Mary and sighed. “They’ve barely called. This blessed marker -” she held up the black ballpoint she had been writing on her hand with “- rarely gets a response. She threw it across the table. It bounced once and landed on the floor, startling Salem, who jumped up into the safety of Mary’s arms.

“Poor Salem," she cooed, and smiled impishly from behind her book. “It may be just as well. The writing on your knuckles rather resembles prison tattoos.” 

Zelda, who had her head buried in her arms, didn't notice. “I’m serious. I don’t know what to do, and you’re no help at all.” She lifted her head and glared sullenly at the other woman. “Anyway, you’re only here because of the protective ward around the property.”

Mary bristled at the sudden change in Zelda’s demeanour. “Yes, which you refuse to compromise so that I can leave at will. I don’t know. Perhaps they’re just more comfortable on their own.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Zelda’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Mary sighed. “They’re with their partners, Zelda. And,” she continued, unperturbed, “their personal, professional and academic lives aren’t centered on this house anymore.” She looked pointedly at Zelda, whose lips were drawn together in a thin, straight line, barely disguising her frustration.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I, too, could have a life outside of this house. I _choose_ to focus my attention on my family and my coven: reckless, inconsiderate, and unappreciative as they are.” She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping violently against the kitchen tiles. “And if I wanted your opinion on the matter, rest assured, I would have asked for it.”

The silence she left in her wake was deafening. Even Salem hopped down from his perch on Mary’s lap, skulking off to avenge his wronged caretaker. She stared glumly down at the kitchen table, watching the steam swirl and dissipate around her teacup. Of course family would be a sore point for Zelda at a time like this; she held herself personally accountable for their safety and well-being to a degree that verged on unreasonable. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a parent. More than that, though, Zelda was anxious and she was lonely. And that was a condition with which Mary was intimately familiar. 

***

“Zelda.” Mary approached the witch, who was sipping from a tumbler of whisky in front of the fireplace. Zelda raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

Mary produced a leather-bound book of Greek myths from behind her. “I brought something I would like to read to you, if I may.”

Still no answer. Mary took it as a tacit agreement. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud.

“ _For ere this the tribes of men lived on earth remote and free from ills and hard toil and heavy sickness which bring the Fates upon men; for in misery men grow old quickly. But the woman took off the great lid of the jar with her hands and scattered all these and her thought caused sorrow and mischief to men. Only Hope remained there in an unbreakable home within, under the rim of the great jar, and did not fly out at the door; for ere that, the lid of the jar stopped her, by the will of Aegis-holding Zeus who gathers the clouds. But the rest, countless plagues, wander amongst men; for earth is full of evils and the sea is full._ ” 

She closed the book, rubbing the worn spine with one hand. When Zelda didn’t respond right away, she looked up expectantly.

Zelda had her eyebrows drawn together. “That’s an excerpt from Hesiod’s _Works and Days_. And it’s written in Aeolic Greek.”

Mary nodded. “Precisely. It’s the myth of Pandora’s box.”

“Pithos,” Zelda corrected, “and how did you learn to do that?”

Mary put a hand on Zelda’s forearm. “Don’t you want to know why I’m reading this to you?” Zelda nodded, and Mary continued. “I know what it is to burden oneself with an undue, even cosmic, responsibility to agonize. Who is going to do it, if not you? However, I’ve always felt that the mulling over of potential catastrophes has a curious outcome.” She paused for a moment. “It is a great deceiver. It seems to afford the mind the unfounded ability to function as a sort of trap. As if, the moment you release the tension, the horrible eventualities you’ve been imagining will fly out into the world and materialize somehow.”

Zelda sniffled. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at. I can’t help but feel as though they should remain trapped.”

Mary shifted closer to Zelda so that they were both staring into the flames. “I just think it’s a reassuring way of understanding the myth. To me, the story has never functioned as a cautionary tale. Curiosity is too precious to be mitigated. I think it’s the story of a woman burdened with care. The good news,” she said, taking Zelda by the hand, “is that hope remains, even when Pandora surrenders to the call.”

Zelda shook her head. “Hope is the worst culprit of them all,” she said absently. “I’ve been alive long enough to have become acquainted with its vindictive, ill-tempered shrew of a cousin: inevitable disappointment."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long hiatus spurred by my return to work and school is finally over! I am still in school, I just don't care about it as much. This fic deserves an ending. I've got a couple more chapters planned, so please let me know if you're still interested in/enjoying it.
> 
> All About Eve and The Blue Angel are both relatively LGBT-adjacent films for their time periods. One involves seriously sapphic undertones (and an unhealthy obsession, but we couldn't have it all in the 50s), and the other involves Marlene Dietrich in a suit. Do with that information what you will.

“Zelda?”

“Mmm?”

“Who is Lilith?”

Zelda’s eyes snapped open. They had been watching a movie on the couch, having finally settled on _All about Eve_ after some bickering, when a wave of exhaustion had overcome her. Normally she was one to fight the urge to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but this time no force in heaven or hell could have kept her awake. She sat up awkwardly. Mary’s fingers were still tangled up in her hair, and the realization made her blush. She fumbled with her glasses, which hung tangled and askew from her messy curls. “Why do you ask?”

The room was so silent that she could have heard a pin drop. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, and her mind was spinning with a thousand questions. _How did you know? Is she here? And -- what_ was _that with my hair just now?_ She swallowed nervously, trying to downplay the pink rising to her cheeks and the yawning, anxious pit in her stomach. 

She shook her head. No. There was no need to spiral out of control. It was possible that Mary simply didn’t know what had happened with Lilith, and was asking for an overview of her role in the _Sirach_ based on something she had stumbled upon in her reading. And even if Mary did know, none of it really mattered. She had known the woman for less than a month, and more than that, she was a mortal. A mere blip in Zelda’s long and storied life. She wouldn’t even remember her fifty years from now.

Mary looked down at her hands and shrugged. “I noticed that there was a wealth of material on her in your study. It made me curious.” 

Zelda nodded, heart racing. It was an innocent question, nothing more. Why had she allowed herself to be moved to panic so quickly? She found herself wishing she hadn’t been roused from her sleep. Mary’s thighs were so soft and warm, and she could still feel the rough tartan of her skirt on her cheek and the gentle brush of her hands through her hair. She brought a hand up to her cheek. It had been so long since she had been touched like that.

Mistaking her silence for one of annoyance, Mary quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was reading in your study this afternoon and came upon a stack of letters stuffed into the volume I had selected. I can assure you that I didn’t see anything except for the name of the recipient.”

She had forgotten about those. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she had been scrambling to pull the doctrine of the Church of Lilith together. It was possible that it had all come off a little bit desperate. She wondered absently if that had been the real reason for her then queen’s silence. When praying yielded no response, she had turned to writing. Of course, she meant to burn them eventually - either in a brazier as a final attempt to establish a connection, or by way of her cigarette lighter - as irreverent a tool as she could muster. She had been desperate - groveling, pathetic - every time she called on Lilith. Why should she have behaved any differently when the situation had finally been reversed? 

Realizing that she still hadn’t answered Mary’s question, Zelda shook her head. “She’s… an ancestor.”

Mary frowned. “How distant of an ancestor?”

Zelda chuckled despite herself. “You’re familiar with the _Alphabet of ben Sirach_ , are you not?”

“No… I mean, of course I _am_ , but it can’t be -”

The witch nodded, making sure to keep her tone light when she spoke. “One and the same.” 

Mary nodded. “Interesting. Her powers precede Satan then, don’t they?” Zelda nodded. She hesitated for a moment, fiddling with a loose stitch on her cardigan. “Does anyone know how they work?” 

Zelda looked to the side. “We only have a rudimentary understanding of the source of our power, as of yet. Centuries of limitations, of being corralled by a predator whose only purpose was to make sure we didn’t own our power and realize how easy he was to defeat… it makes the question all the more pressing. I was trying to answer it after we finally abandoned Satan. That is why Lilith was of such great interest to me.”

Mary leaned forward to pick up a book of crossword puzzles. Her expression was indecipherable. "I must admit, something about the name drew me. It seemed... I don't know. Familiar."

Zelda smiled tightly. "I see.” Waves of guilt frothed and crested over her, and her breathing quickened despite her best attempts to slow it down. Mary’s face was swimming in front of her, her blue eyes radiating care and concern. 

“Are you alright?”

The witch inhaled sharply and tried to smile, certain that she resembled a grimacing jack-o-lantern more than anything else - no doubt the picture of stability. “Excuse me for a moment.” 

Her legs were jelly walking up the stairs, and the tight smile she had been wearing in front of Mary stayed plastered to her face until she reached her bedroom door. She slipped through the door and sat on her bed, staring down at her thighs. _Stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stop thinking about it_

Lilith’s face, shocked and hurt on the heels of her rejection, sprung into her mind. No matter how hard Zelda tried to forget, the guilt she felt for sending Lilith back into the clutches of her abuser wouldn’t subside. At best, she could distract herself for a couple of hours, a day or two at most, but her own cold voice echoed constantly in the back of her mind. 

And now, Mary. The more pressing of several pressing problems. If Mary knew what Zelda had done, not to mention that the witch was intimately familiar with the circumstances surrounding the most traumatic experience of her life, she would understand why Zelda had had absolutely no qualms moving past the unpleasantness that was her attempted murder. That gunshot was water under the bridge, as far as Zelda was concerned. It was no more than what she deserved. She found herself wishing that she could erase entire parts of her life, the parts she knew Mary would not abide, in order to remake herself in the image of a woman Mary would want. Mary, with her soft hands and her tartan skirts. She squeezed her eyes shut and held the heels of her hands to her eyes. A couple of tears leaked out anyhow. _I want her_ . The realization hit her like a runaway train. _Do I lose her, or do I lie?_

Soft footsteps fell on the carpet outside the door. A brief moment, and then a knock. “Zelda? Are you alright?”

Zelda cleared her throat. “Just a minute!” Her voice, cracked and hoarse, gave her away. 

Mary’s head appeared in the door. She cocked her head to the side, eyes impossibly warm. It made Zelda want to throw up. “Can I come in?”

“Do you have absolutely no regard for others’ privacy?” Zelda snapped. Her attempt to dissuade Mary from entering was rendered futile by an escaped sniffle, and suddenly, she was enveloped in the warmth of Mary’s arms, tears soaking into the soft, blue wool of her sweater.

“Listen…” Mary began. Zelda shook her head vehemently.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mary nodded. “Ok - ok.” She stood, taking Zelda’s hand in hers. “What would you say to finishing the movie?”

Zelda looked up at her from behind a curtain of red hair. “We don’t have to. I know you were set on _The Blue Angel_ , anyhow.” 

Mary laughed. “Yes, but I believe you are the only person here who would have gotten anything out of it. I didn’t even know they sold the German-language split reels here anymore.”

_They don’t_ , Zelda thought. “Yes, well, I find the English version a bit of a chore to sit through. If you like, I can translate for you as we go. I’m sure I would do a better job of it.”

Mary rolled her eyes and chuckled. Zelda held tightly onto Mary’s hand, enjoying the light stroking of the other woman’s thumb against hers. She didn’t even know if Mary was aware that she was doing it. She just knew that she might dissolve into a puddle on the carpet if it stopped. She cracked a slight smile, brushing away an errant tear with her free hand. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

***

The clock had long since struck midnight, and Mary and Zelda were draped over the coffee table, whisky glasses having been filled and refilled more times than either woman could count. Playing cards were strewn about the carpet, and a roaring fire crackled behind them. Low, smoky notes hung in the air, playing from an ancient turntable that hadn’t been dusted in half a century.

“Allow me,” Zelda slurred. She tucked a stray curl behind Mary’s ear. Mary giggled and blushed. “Now, where were we?”

Mary lay back, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her cheekbones. “I believe you were telling me about the seventh time that you were apprehended by the police.”

Zelda threw back her head and laughed. “This time it was for what they deemed ‘indecent exposure.’ I was with a … girlfriend of mine in Paris, and we had stripped down to our underwear to go swimming in the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. Mind you -” she hiccupped and lowered her voice, eyes wide “- there was _nothing_ inappropriate about our attire. Not in the least. At that time, knee-length slips were in fashion, and we may as well have been wearing evening gowns.” She rolled her eyes and took another swig of her drink. “I think they were mostly uneasy about the marked absence of men.”

Mary snorted, hand over her mouth. She leaned clumsily forward so that her hands were almost touching Zelda’s. “Well? What happened after that?” 

Zelda shot her a sly smile. “We ran like heaven, of course. And found ourselves at the Mars Club, where Billie Holiday happened to be putting on show.” She sighed. “It was _marvelous_. I miss being able to set foot out of this blessed house.” She took a long drag of her cigarette. She turned to look at Mary. “What about you? What is the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?”

Mary looked suddenly uncertain. “I don’t know if you want to hear about that.”

Zelda leaned in closer, her voice gravelly and soaked in whisky. “I can assure you that I most certainly do.”

Mary looked at her for a moment, then down at the weathered coffee table. Finally, she shook her head as though she had made up her mind to do something, picked up her whisky and downed the rest of her glass. “Living with a woman.”

Zelda felt a desire, hot as hell and twice as bright, burning in her chest. She wanted to quash the hope she was feeling, if only because the disappointment would be unbearable if things didn’t turn out the way she wished they would. It was persistent, though, and fluttered around her insides, irrepressible. The thing with feathers, indeed. “What do you mean? Surely... surely that wasn’t illegal. Unless…”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “The most meaningful encounter I’ve had with the law was for a speeding ticket. I did lose my job for it, though.”

Zelda looked down. _Oh_. “Oh?”

Mary chuckled mirthlessly. “I don’t quite know how to clarify further -”

Zelda put her hand on Mary’s cheek and closed the distance between them, cutting Mary’s unnecessary clarification short. She kissed her, long and deep, pausing after what felt like an eternity. “I think I know precisely what you’re getting at,” she breathed. 

Mary pulled away, her expression unreadable. Zelda felt suddenly sick, her breath hitching and getting caught in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - I’m sorry.” She put both hands over her mouth, eyes wide. The seconds that Mary didn’t respond were melting into one another, and she could feel every slow, thundering beat of her heart in her ears. Tears pricked her eyes for the second time that evening. She put a hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, panic threatening to set in. _Focus. Damage control. How do I_ \- 

She didn’t have a chance to finish her thought. Mary took her face in both of her hands and kissed her back, pushing her back against the couch. “May I ...?” She asked. Zelda nodded wordlessly, shocked at the sudden turn in demeanor. Mary shifted closer and hitched up her skirt, straddling Zelda and knocking over the witch’s glass in the process. Zelda flicked her wrist lazily, and the liquid disappeared. Mary smiled against Zelda’s lips. “I love it when you do that.”

  
Zelda caressed Mary’s lower back, running her hands over the dimples in her skin. She buried her face in the crook of her neck, enjoying the other woman’s scent and the brush of her skin against her cheek. _I’ll lie_ , she decided.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy, folks! Keep in mind that I love this ship and that they will be happy... eventually.

The next morning was impossible. Mary woke up with a pounding in her head and a strange feeling in her chest. Her arm was snaked around Zelda’s waist. Zelda held her hand to her chest as she snored softly, unaware of the hangover that was sure to hit her the moment she regained consciousness. For Mary’s part, it wasn’t the headache, or the nausea, but the fear that rendered her immobile. She lay in bed staring at the dust motes floating in the morning light for a while, certain that she had doomed them both to some unutterable demise. She groaned slightly and lifted her head, then her chest, carefully bringing her arm out from around the witch. She moved the curls away from Zelda’s face and kissed her temple softly. A sigh, a flutter of her eyelashes, but no sign other than that that her peace had been disturbed. Mary exhaled softly. Good. 

Mary wondered if Zelda would remember their conversation from the previous night. She, herself, remembered vividly the moment that the realization had struck. As she was drifting to sleep, Zelda had shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow. “You’ve been in love, haven’t you?” Mary nodded. “What did it feel like?” _Like this,_ Mary thought. She hadn't been able to answer.

She climbed out of bed and walked slowly across the room and into the hall, careful to avoid the floorboards she knew would creak. A few weeks in the house, and already its moods and peculiarities were familiar. She knew which door hinges squeaked, which steps protested under her weight, and which spots on which carpets were threadbare. Which books on which shelves had worn spines and pages falling out, and which were new. Zelda categorized them by degree of her respect for the author, which would have been strange had it not been so utterly _Zelda_. 

The forcing of oneself out of bed might have been a healthy decision for anyone else, but for Mary, it was first and foremost a punishment for her own behaviour. She trembled as she spooned coffee into the espresso maker, tamping down the ground beans while their kiss played out over and over in her mind. She had enjoyed it immensely, and had no doubt that Zelda had as well. It was just that it never should have happened.

She had no business playing with Zelda’s heart when she had been ready to murder her not but several weeks prior. It was the behaviour of a madwoman, and Mary had nothing to prove that she hadn’t, indeed, gone mad in recent months. She had swung quite suddenly from blaming Zelda for the implosion of her entire life to being totally besotted with her, and the speed with which all of it had occurred was hallucinatory. The worst part of it all was the guilt. Zelda was clearly in a vulnerable state after whatever had happened with her ex-husband, and apparently had no reservations about allowing another potentially dangerous person into her life. She was obviously impulsive, and to that point, Mary suspected that the witch used liquor - and sex - as avenues for reliving that which she refused to talk about. 

Mary knew better than to ask outright, but the questions she had gnawed at her. Zelda would wake up screaming in the night, only to roll over and pretend that nothing had happened. She had learned to avoid touching Zelda on nights like those. Unlike Mary, who preferred to be pulled in close and have her back rubbed after a nightmare, Zelda would go completely stiff. Usually, the morning after would be quiet. The two of them would sit absently at the table, chewing on the bread and jam that Hilda had stocked the cupboards with. Questions would be met with silence, or at best a blank look, as though they were separated by a million miles and not by a couple of feet. 

One thing was certain; it had been selfish of her to indulge her own carnal whims.

She fiddled with the grounding stone that Zelda had given her, which she kept in the breast pocket of her nightgown. It was a large and lovely chunk of obsidian, laced with ripples, as though someone had frozen the glassy surface of a pond. It smelled very slightly of something brisk and invigorating, no doubt meant to ease the wearer out of a dissociative episode. She couldn’t imagine why Zelda had given it up, when it was so painfully clear that she still needed it.

This particular morning, however, was different. Zelda swept into the kitchen, wearing a silk kimono and a matching nightgown. Her amber curls were piled messily on top of her head, and her lipstick was already on. Mary felt her breath catch. She had never seen Zelda, or anyone else for that matter, look so beautiful in the morning. She stood against the sink, bathed in the morning light, and looked back at Mary, who immediately averted her gaze. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?” Zelda asked casually.

Mary kept her eyes trained downward. “Not so well,” she admitted. “I don’t feel quite myself this morning.”

Zelda nodded eagerly. “I can have Hilda’s hangover tonic ready in minutes. I may even take a couple of drops of it myself.”

Mary didn’t answer, which might normally have struck the other woman as unusual. Today, however, it could just as easily be written off as a symptom of Mary’s hangover. The silence between them hung for just a moment too long. Zelda cleared her throat. “So, do you have any plans for the day?” Her tone was forced, and it made Mary feel queasy. She knew that Zelda had been expecting warmth from her, if not outright affection, and withholding it didn’t seem right, either. She wanted nothing more than to go to her, to wrap her arms around her middle, rest her chin on her shoulder, and bury her face in those soft curls.

_Stop_. This little fantasy wasn’t helping either of them. Better to nip it directly in the bud. 

“Not a one.” Mary stared at the thin eddies of cream swirling in her cup. She heard Zelda’s footsteps, soft on the kitchen tiles, and watched as her shadow fell across the table. Her scent, warm and smoky, filled the air between them. Zelda put a hand on Mary’s shoulder and leaned forward, and Mary, panicked, knocked a spoon to the floor. “Oh, dear. One moment.” She bent down to pick it up, conscious of a subtle ringing in her ears. Her voice sounded flat and wrong, even to her.

She looked up just in time to watch Zelda flinch, her face falling slightly at the rebuff. The witch’s eyebrows were knit together in confusion, and, instead of holding Mary’s gaze, she looked down into her coffee. Her lip twitched slightly. After several beats, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, peering back coolly over the steam rising from her cup. “I see. Alright, then. I’ll be in my study if you need me.” Her voice was hard, and she left the kitchen as quickly as she had entered it, leaving Mary staring at the knots in the kitchen table, feeling somehow worse than before.

***

Zelda locked the door to her study, stood for a second with her back against it, and finally succumbed to the weakness in her knees. She slid slowly down towards the carpet, crouching for a moment with her head in her arms. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, and she could taste something heavy and coppery in the back of her throat. 

She had had no way of knowing how fast she was going to fall for this mortal, and even less of how much her rejection was going to hurt. And Lilith below, did it hurt. She was used to driving people away, and to the sting of that inevitable abandonment, but that had always been a conscious effort on her part. It was self-orchestrated and it was self-preservation. This thing with Mary, whatever it had turned into, was different. She wanted to be around her all the time, and she had been fairly certain that Mary wanted the same. In spite of the plague that continued to batter the town, the last few weeks had been...comfortable. Happy, even. She thought it had been that way for both of them.

She thought of their evenings spent playing games in front of the fire - Mary was better at Scrabble, Zelda at poker - and felt a familiar pang of humiliation and loneliness deep in her abdomen. Hadn’t they both enjoyed the cups of tea they had shared, reading together in the mornings? Had she imagined the warm, spirited conversations at the dinner table that lasted well into the night? Why was it that she was always the last to discover that she wasn’t a person with whom someone else would actually want to spend time? And why was it always such a surprise? She thought of Hilda for a brief moment, and shook her head. She had already cut - and hammered, and shot - the cord with the only person in the world who might have been able to stomach the thought of spending her life with her. There was no one else.

***

Three nights passed, then four. Mary slipped off her stockings, climbed into her nightgown, and turned on the lamp beside her bed. Just as she had the previous night, she snuck a glance at the door, hoping that tonight was going to be different, and that Zelda would stroll through the door and nudge her to her side of the bed before crawling under the duvet. Normally, they would have read for a while, side by side, and Zelda would have nibbled on some crackers and left crumbs in the sheets.

Mary would have given anything for things to go back to normal.

Zelda had been avoiding her like the plague - quite literally, in their case. The only thing worse than being trapped inside the house with a stranger who distrusted her was being trapped inside the house with a woman on whom she had a hopeless crush, and who she had obviously hurt more deeply than she might have initially realized. They were now taking their meals separately, and Zelda was spending more and more time locked away in her study. Twice now, Mary had brought trays of toast and jam to the door, hoping to coax Zelda to eat, only to find them intact and untouched several hours later.

That particular night, the wind was howling with a fervor that Mary couldn’t ignore, even with the help of her earplugs. She shifted slightly and pulled the woolen blanket more securely over her shoulders, shivering from a sudden blast of cold air. The candles in her room were flickering more violently than usual, and even the thick down of her heavy duvet didn’t help to alleviate the deep chill she felt settling in her bones. It was unusual weather for any time of year, but particularly for an early summer night.

A sudden thump on the window shook her out of her thoughts. Whatever lingering fatigue she had been feeling melted away, replaced by a liquid fear that pooled in her chest. Some kind of sticky, grey substance, dark and viscous, began to spread over the bottom pane of the window. Mary watched in horror as more of it hit the glass, which quivered and threatened to shatter with every attack.

Suddenly, a monstrous face appeared out of the gloom. It had a chalky face, bone-white and diseased, and, when it smiled, she could discern a rotting, gelatinous ooze leaching out of its black gums. She knew that face. It had smiled at her in her nightmares, only this time it was close enough that she could smell the cloying sweetness of decay emanating from its innumerable pustules. 

“Zelda! _Zelda_!” Mary shrieked. She found herself unable to move, immobilized by a paralyzing fear that spread through her body like a toxin. She could only watch as the glass of her window quivered and groaned under the pressure of the all-consuming rot. Small cracks appeared and fanned out over the panes, like so many miniature forks of lightning.

The door flew open, and Zelda was there, her magic buzzing and crackling all around her. The short hairs that normally framed her face stood on end, and her robe whipped around her. “Mary! Mary, are you alright?” Mary shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide and panicked. She gestured towards the window, struggling against the inexplicable paralysis. She felt as though she was in a living nightmare, unable to move, her screams muffled and drowned out by the wind. Zelda turned quickly, and the silk robe she had been wearing over her nightgown was torn apart by the howling storm, exposing thick, ropy scars that ran all the way across her back. Mary stifled a gasp, and felt immediately guilty when Zelda cringed at the sound, her shoulders shifting forward involuntarily.

The witch held up her hands and began to chant, heavy, ancient syllables rolling off of her tongue. Their presence in the room was palpable - they filled the space as though they had a weight and substance. The golden threads of Zelda’s magic and the smoky crimson of her words coalesced into a thick fog, locked into a battle with the grey, oily stink of the demonic residue that was leaking through the cracks. Her back and arms trembled from the effort, and rivulets of sweat found their way down the gullies and ridges of her back. Mary looked on in mute terror, tears streaming down her face.

Zelda’s chanting slowed. Her voice, low and gravelly, took on a deep, humming energy. The atmosphere in the small bedroom was electric, crackling with radiant, unspeakable power. Mary held her breath. It felt as though the smallest shift would cause a rupture in the fabric of reality. A loud gasp from Zelda shook Mary to her core. It was working. The oily sheen that had been trickling through the fissures in the window and down the sides of the wall was slowly evaporating, repelled by the force of Zelda’s magic. 

The wind died down as suddenly as it had started, and Zelda fell to her hands and knees, breathing heavily. Mary rolled her neck carefully from side to side, noting with relief that she was finally able to move. The sensation in her limbs was curiously akin to that of pins and needles. When she was confident that she could, she crawled to Zelda, placing a careful hand on her back. The witch was coated in cold sweat, and she seemed relieved to feel Mary’s touch. She rolled heavily onto her side and closed her eyes, allowing Mary to run her hands wordlessly through her hair as she lay curled up against her thigh.

Finally, Mary spoke. “Zelda. What _was_ that?” The witch shifted slightly, but her eyes remained closed. It took a moment for her to respond. She shook her head.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was low. “I’ve never felt anything like that. I wasn’t even certain that I was going to pull through.”

Mary brushed a thumb over the mole on Zelda’s temple. “That was amazing. I’m so proud of you.” She stared at the witch in awe.

Zelda opened her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “Whatever that was, it was utterly outside of the realm of what I would consider normal. And I can handle a run-of-the-mill demon.” She grimaced. “Whatever that thing was, it’s getting its power from a source I’m reluctant to imagine.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Mary offered cautiously.

Zelda sat up, wincing slightly as she did so. “ _What_?”

Mary nodded. “In my dreams. It’s odd, you know. The way this has all been happening in waves or patterns of attacks. Have you noticed that?” 

Zelda nodded. “Of course. I don’t quite understand what you’re getting at, though.”

Mary sniffed slightly. “It reminds me of the way I dream about the time I spent “under,” so to speak. It seems random, but every couple of days there’s an event, followed by smaller events that seem like… aftershocks. I don’t know. All I can say for certain is that it works the same way in my nightmares. One horrible doozy of a nightmare, followed by a series of dreams that seem to lessen in severity.”

Zelda stared at her, eyes wide. “Go on.”

Mary shrugged. “That’s all there is to it, really. I don’t know how to explain it, but somehow I feel as though there’s a connection here.”

Zelda pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a low, heavy sigh. “I have something to tell you, but before I do that, you have to know something else." She paused for a moment. "I have feelings for you." Shifting slightly to cross her arms, she shot a glance to the side, as though both the emotion and the admission were inconvenient. "And I don’t expect you to do anything about that. Especially after the conversation that we are about to have. I just need you to know.”

Mary stared at her, shocked. “What?”

“I love you.” Zelda shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting it either, but here we are.” Mary took a long look at the other woman, reading the lines of her tired face and eventually settling on her sad, anxious eyes. Silence. A beat, then two. Zelda took Mary’s face in her hands, no doubt noting that she was avoiding her gaze. She swallowed hard. “Mary?”

Mary shook her head, and gently brushed Zelda’s hands off of her face. “I’m sorry.” She got up slowly and left the room without looking back.

***

_I love you_. Zelda’s words echoed in her mind. She paced the carpet in the front foyer, watching the woven medallions in the plush wool slip past as she marched obsessively back and forth, fretting. Everything she had been feeling for the witch, the guilt and the warmth, the fear of losing her and the yearning to be with her, spilled forth in equal measure, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. It left her gasping for air. Compartmentalization had become a survival tactic for her since the dead time, but she should have known it wouldn’t have worked for much longer. Since that first night they had spent together, she had known, deep down, that it was only going to be a matter of time before the truth about her feelings for the witch came out. She took hold of the bannister, hoping to steady herself before she had to respond. She heard Zelda’s footsteps on the stairs, quick and forceful on the ancient wood. Between the two of them, Mary was surprised they hadn’t worn holes in the floor.

“What was that?” Zelda asked. Her voice trembled, dangerously quiet, and her eyes were filled to the brim with angry tears.

Mary turned and grabbed hold of Zelda’s shoulders, surprising both of them. “How? How can you possibly love me after what I did to you?” She barely recognized the frenzied, high-pitched warble that was her voice. She let out a wrenching sob and drew back, squeezing her eyes shut. The look on Zelda’s face would be impossible to behold, no matter what it was.

Zelda took hold of Mary’s wrists. “You don’t understand.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Whatever you were trying to do was _precisely_ what I would have deserved. The things I’ve done…” She let go and turned away, crossing her arms over her middle, her shoulders hunched in defeat. “You’re not the only murderer in this house,” she conceded quietly. “I’ve been killing my sister for the better part of three centuries. As a result, I’ve relinquished the belief that there is anything fundamentally good in me. Anything at all worth saving. I am a poison, and I live every day in fear thinking that the people who somehow continue to love me will see that and leave me.” She was crying openly now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You killed me as a means of survival. There is nothing monstrous about that. I’ve been doing it in order to thrive. And that’s the critical distinction between us, Mary. Even though I’ve decided to stop, it doesn’t change what I’ve done, or why I did it. And I can spend every day of the rest of my life trying to make up for my transgressions. Lilith knows, Hilda deserves that. But it won’t change the fact that I am beyond repair.” She shook her head slightly and sighed. Finally, she looked at Mary head on. “There’s something else.”

Mary gaped at her wordlessly. She couldn’t imagine what could possibly follow. She cleared her throat. “You must know by now that I loathe surprises.”

Zelda nodded. She looked weary and spent, as if whatever knowledge she was about to share was physically weighing her down. “It’s about your…“dead time”, as you call it. I told you I had nothing to do with Adam’s death and that - ” her eyes widened at Mary’s sudden glare, and she held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture “- is true. However, I am not as ignorant as you may think. It’s time I told you everything I know about what happened to you, if you wish to hear it.”

Mary sat down heavily on the stairs, head spinning. She didn’t even think to move away when Zelda sat beside her. She leaned forward, put her head in her hands, and breathed out slowly, steeling herself for what was to follow. “What? What is it?”

Zelda paused for a moment, then cleared her throat, seemingly making up her mind to tell the truth in one swift motion. “You were possessed by Lilith.”

Mary stared at the other woman. “That’s impossible.”

“No,” Zelda shook her head. “That’s how I realized what was going on here tonight. After you told me about your dream patterns, everything suddenly clicked. This isn't an infestation at all. It's a possession, and I believe I now know exactly who is being targeted.”

Mary stood up suddenly, the fear and the betrayal that had been quietly brewing in her chest finally coming to a head. Everything around her seemed as though it was happening in a thick fog. She hadn't registered a single thing that Zelda had just said. All she could think about was Lilith. The face that haunted her nightmares, the one that was both her own and not. She backed away, eyes wide. “No.” She turned and opened the door, filling the foyer with fresh air for the first time in weeks. Ignoring Zelda’s cries of protest, she ran.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to clarify that this fic is canon-divergent as of the immediate aftermath of Mary and Zelda's altercation in Season 3. I've taken some liberties with certain plot points. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! The next chapter will be the last, and I'm hoping to wrap it all up on a fluffy note.

Zelda sat chain smoking on the stairs, flicking ash over the bannister every so often. It was unlike her not to care about the mess. She was always getting on Sabrina’s case for tracking mud in through the door, and on Ambrose’s for leaving his roaches on various dishes around the house. Her head was spinning, and all she wanted was to feel the rush of blood to her head. The door was still open, and its hinges creaked as it swung back and forth. For the first time in days, she could smell the rot outside. The barrier had been broken, and she could feel it pulsing and seeping across the threshold. The pressure behind her eyes could tell her that much. It was almost as if the decay had been animated, and was now its own grotesque life form. 

Mary had been out in the storm for the better part of an hour. Zelda had chased after her, but had stumbled and fallen into a mud puddle, eyes stinging with rain. She hadn’t even reached the end of the graveyard when Mary had disappeared into the foggy woods. There was no doubt that she was freezing out there in her nightdress and her slippers, and it made the witch’s heart ache. However, she knew better than to try running after her again. If she was going to go out there, she would have to be prepared. Otherwise, both of them would be doomed.

Her palm itched and tingled. Smudged, black letters were forming just underneath the heartline. She squinted slightly, doing her best to read them. It had been days since she had heard anything from Sabrina. 

_If you can read this, come to the Academy._

Zelda’s heart stopped. There was no way in heaven her niece would be demanding her presence at the Academy unless something was deeply wrong. She was on her feet in seconds. 

In the chest of drawers by the staircase, she and Hilda had agreed to keep a small collection of magical tools, to quickly draw from should the need ever arise. Empty jars shared the space with vials of corrosive potions, magical herbs, containers of salt, lengths of ribbon, and small animal bones, collected from the mice and rabbits that various familiars had brought home over the years. Zelda took a large coat from the front closet and slipped into it, then set about filling the pockets with anything that might serve to protect or to repel. 

There was going to be an exorcism tonight.

She checked once more to make sure that everything in the house was in place, then walked out into the downpour. She climbed into the hearse and turned the key in the ignition, grateful when the engine roared to life without needing a jump. Nobody had used the car in weeks, and it was ancient - all oak panelling and beige leather upholstery - a true tribute to the 70s. She was accustomed to it protesting more often than not.

The drive to the Academy was a soggy one. The windshield wipers were no match for the sheets of rain that besieged the hearse, and Zelda urged the car forward through rivers of mud that threatened to run her off the road. She was barely pushing forty when more writing appeared on her hand. Block letters this time, and messy.

_Please hurry_.

She swallowed nervously, took a last drag of her cigarette, and floored it.

***

“Sabrina? Sabrina, where are you?” Zelda called out into the cavernous halls of the Academy. Her own voice skittered down the halls and echoed back at her. The looming vastness of the Great Hall, though no longer occupied by the hideous statue she and Hilda had made short work of bludgeoning, was still no friendlier than the storm she had come in from. She walked forward slowly, straining to detect any hint of presence aside from her own. Her heels clicked against the tiles, and she shivered. 

The distant sound of rapid footfalls broke the heavy silence. A flash of white-blonde hair appeared in the gloom, and Zelda’s brisk forward march was intercepted by her niece enveloping her in a hug. 

“Auntie! You came!”

Zelda shook the teenager off, making a show of wiping the rain off of her lapels. In truth, she was so elated at the sight of Sabrina, safe and whole, that it made her breath catch. She hadn’t even registered how much she had missed her. Not to mention the amount of stress she had been under, imagining the various crises that her niece was capable of orchestrating. “Sabrina. What in Lilith’s name is going on?” She hissed. “Where’s Ambrose?”

Sabrina shook her head. “He went out yesterday, and asked me not to tell anyone about it. He said that he had an idea of what was going on, but that no one was supposed to follow him unless the situation took a turn for the worse. Which,” she turned her head side to side and shrugged, “it clearly has.”

“Let me get this straight,” Zelda deadpanned, “just so that we are _crystal_ clear. You neglected to tell me that Ambrose had left the safety of the Academy, where the two of you are protected by a network of defensive spells - the only reason I allowed you to remain here, unsupervised, by the way - to track down the source of this mess all on his own?” Her voice rose with every syllable, and Sabrina winced. “Would you call that an accurate summary of what has occurred?”

Sabrina couldn’t seem to stop herself from retaliating. “I assumed that he had a good reason!”

“There is _no_ reason that either of you should ever seek to keep anything from your aunt Hilda and I! We are a family, and families come to one another’s aid. The shameless _secrecy_ in this house,” Zelda shook her head and lit a cigarette, “is something that I cannot abide.” She took a long drag. “When - _if_ \- this ever ends, we are going to have a serious conversation -” 

“- Auntie, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Sabrina began. Zelda shot her a look that in no uncertain terms meant _and yet, you’re going to do it anyway_. She gestured slightly, allowing her to continue. “We’ve still got a problem. Ambrose said that if I didn’t hear from him, that we should go to Moon Valley Marsh.”

“The swamp?” Zelda barked, aghast. Part of her reeled in revulsion at the thought of having to trek through that rancid wasteland, where nothing grew save for a few patches of sickly reeds. The town had been in talks for months, endeavouring to find a use for the land, but no property developer worth his salt would come within ten miles of it. Another, bigger part of her glowed with pride. So, Ambrose had figured it out as well - and just ahead of her, no less. She tossed her cigarette to the floor, ground it into the tile with her heel, and began to walk back the way she came, not waiting to see if Sabrina was keeping up. “That makes sense. Let’s go.”

Sabrina trotted alongside her, confused. “What? None of this makes sense.”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

***

The moon rose high over the valley, its light dull and milky in the haze of foul-smelling mist that engulfed the town. Zelda cut the engine and swung the door open, gagging immediately at the smell. This was as far as they were going - the rest of the trip would have to be managed on foot. It was likely that they had gone too far already. She wondered absently if roadside assistance was available in this area, or if this was going to be the hearse’s final resting place. She got out and immediately sunk into ankle-deep mud, gasping loudly. It was frigid, tumbling and frothing over her shoes. She could make out a pale green light just beyond the reeds, flickering like a will-o-the-wisp . Sabrina opened her own door, and Zelda whipped around, finger to her lips. “You’re staying here.”

Sabrina made a motion as if to protest, but Zelda’s glare held her in place. And so, she slid back into her seat, glowering. The witch rolled her eyes. Sabrina’s attitude was, if nothing else, a constant in an otherwise dangerously unstable situation. She muttered a couple of words, ignoring the teenager’s disapproving whines, and turned and walked slowly towards the light, retching slightly at the odour. Every few steps, she would sink into several feet of grainy mud. Revolting. Finally, she abandoned her shoes and continued forth in her stockings, hoping that she wouldn’t impale herself on a thorn or an errant branch.

She felt a shift in the atmosphere, and a demonic voice rippled and hung in the air. _So, you’ve found me._ She very nearly jumped out of her skin in shock. She peered through the reeds. A huddled shape sat in the middle of the muddy clearing, an oozing, tentacled mass. Straightening her spine and clearing her throat, she called out in response. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, Pesta! You didn’t really think you could keep this little charade going forever, now, did you?” It wasn’t wise to taunt a witch, and even less so to ignore a demon - particularly one that happened to be endowed with an ego. In any case, she wasn’t interested in catering to anyone’s pride tonight. Frustration and sleep deprivation had her in a particularly caustic mood, and this particular cocktail of a possession had caused her enough trouble as it was.

One of the figures in the middle shifted and groaned, and Zelda’s blood ran cold. She could just make out a mop of filthy, blonde hair, flanked by her nephew’s curls and Mary’s thick, brown mane. So, this was personal.

She stiffened and called out again, making sure to address the demon this time. “I assure you that I will make quick work of you, whoever you are, and that this will be easier on you if you release my family at once.” 

A chuckle, and another ripple through the air. This one felt like a jolt of television static, and it made the fine hairs on Zelda’s arms stand up. She shivered slightly. _Do you really think I would give up so soon? Before we had a chance to have a bit of fun?_

Zelda huffed in annoyance. “To begin, you could explain yourself. Demons don’t possess witches. It’s one of our oldest and most sacred covenants.”

“Hypocrite!” Finally, Pesta spoke. Her voice was laced with angry venom. “Don’t tell me you had any sort of covenant in mind when you tried to rope us into your futile, self-serving bid for power. I found the source of power that you were foolish enough to turn your back on, and now it’s mine!” She barked in laughter before retching slightly, eyes bulging. Her chalky face was drained of the little colour it had had in the first place. _Silence,_ the voice commanded. _You may have stumbled upon Satan's power, but you’re a fool to think that you own it._

It seemed that she was dealing with a loyalist; one who had clearly managed to manipulate a lonely, power-hungry outcast. Lilith had, at some point, alluded to threats of sabotage by factions of demons that were still faithful to the previous regime.

Zelda held up her hands. “Pesta, if you work with me, we can defeat him together. I know you’re angry, but this - _this_ is not the gift that you think it is.” She forced herself to remain calm. Negotiating was a part of Hilda’s set of skills, much more so than it was hers. 

_She’s made her choice._ The demon tightened its grip on Pesta’s throat, which seemed to constrict on its own, so that no sound was able to escape. _Have you?_

Zelda raised her hands, again drawing on her magic. She could feel her power flowing through her arms and hands, and she smiled. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a heaping handful of salt, sending it across the clearing to form a circle. The salt crystals glowed for a moment before sinking into the dark earth. “I call on Medea! I call on Agamede! Visit us sisters, intercede on our behalf! Help us to expel the demon, Aerico!”

A strangled cry was wrenched from Pesta, which confirmed to Zelda that she had pinpointed the correct entity. A Greek demon, relatively minor, but unimaginably dangerous when endowed with this kind of power. She continued her chant in Greek, not Latin, calling on deities and witches stretching back generations.

_I call on the Telchines! I call on Calypso! I call on the Wayward Sisters!_

Minutes stretched into one another, elastic and irregular. Time seemed to lose all meaning. She could only feel the ache of exhaustion in her body, and the mounting fear that was beginning to gnaw at her. 

_Visit us sisters, intercede on our behalf!_

She wracked her brain, trying to think of others to beseech. The familiar frustration, and the sneaking suspicion that she was shrieking into a callous void, threatened to overwhelm her. She shook her head. If she began doubting the ritual now, they were all doomed.

_I call on Morgan le Fay! I call on Freyja!_

Something was wrong. She was losing strength fast. The joints in her body felt as though they were cracking apart from the effort, and her muscles strained and protested as they glided over her aching bones. Her voice was hoarse, cracking on every word, and her lungs and throat burned from the sustained effort that it was taking to keep the creature at bay. She could feel herself slipping further and further into a defensive position, no longer certain that her power was the offensive force she needed it to be. The demon laughed and continued to taunt her, obviously aware that her magic were failing her.

_You won’t be able to go through with this_ , it hissed. _You’re not strong enough to protect anyone. Your family is going to Hell, and it is all your fault. How does that feel? They can’t trust you as far as they can throw you._ It laughed. _And no wonder. All you did when they were alive was sow misery and destruction. You’ve been the plague on this house all along._ Its hideous voice was like a death rattle, and every word stung Zelda like a physical blow. She bowed her head and continued chanting, determined not to show more weakness than she already had. The demon seemed to know her better than she knew herself, and to be excoriated in this way, publicly and relentlessly, was mortifying.

The wind died suddenly, and the misshapen lump that was Hilda, Ambrose and Mary was lifted into the air, buffeted by some kind of ill wind. Zelda fell to her knees, choking on her words, throat burning. Her hair and back were soaked in sweat, and her back and shoulders shrieked in agony. The demon used the opportunity to continue its tirade, more bitterly than before. _You were born depraved. There’s something that sits, hard and cold at the very center of you, and nothing you have done or hope to do will ever cleave it from your soul. Your parents knew this, even when you were a little girl. And now, the rest of your family does too._

Zelda swallowed hard and shook her head, staring at the dark mud that was inches from her face. This was not the way that things were going to end. She would expire first. She stood shakily, one leg at a time. Every movement was agonizing, and every jolt of the earth made her want her want to retch. Still, it was clear that something had changed between them. The way that Aerico had suddenly stopped playing with her was encouraging: there was a hint of desperation to his voice that hadn’t been there before.  
  


“I call upon the Witch of Endor! I call upon Anne Boyleyn! Visit us sisters, and intercede on our behalf!” Her voice was no more than a raspy whine.

The wind picked up again, stronger this time. The whirling mass in the center of the circle was lifted higher, until they were suspended at a height dangerous enough to kill a witch, let alone a mortal. Cold fear wormed its way under Zelda’s skin. “Put them down!”

_Never._ The voice came. It was bitter, calculating. More terrifying than any theatrical taunt. _You know that you are not strong enough to protect them._

She felt the back of her neck prickle, as though something wanted to force her to bow her head. It wouldn’t be enough to settle for her family - it was going to take her pride as well. 

“Yes, she is!” Zelda turned her head, fighting against the slow crawl of paralysis that was seizing her muscles. Sabrina was sprinting as fast as she could towards her, somehow having found her way out of the lagging charm that Zelda had placed on her. Zelda’s eyes widened in horror.

“Sabrina, no!” She managed to choke out. Sabrina found her way to her side and seized her hand, bringing it back up to the sky. The teenager’s magic was glowing blue and hot, and it mixed with the faint, golden tendrils that were floating off of Zelda, imbuing them with a renewed strength. Zelda could feel the pain melting away, and she whimpered softly in relief. The power radiating from Sabrina soaked into her tired frame, and she found herself able to move her muscles and use her voice. She stood to her full height, feeling her magic coursing through her. Sabrina’s power and hers, together, were functioning as more than the sum of their parts. They looked at one another before calling out in unison, the one name that Zelda hadn’t used, and the one that she had been the most afraid of invoking.

“We call on Lilith! Visit us sister, intercede on our behalf!” Zelda’s call was remorseful, vulnerable. And hopeful. She threw everything she had in her body into the plea, a gasp and a sob, torn from a place of profound pain and understanding. Wordlessly, she begged Lilith for forgiveness. _I will never abandon you again._

A beat, then two. Both witches stood still, not daring to twitch or even to breathe. A voice that was distant thunder, and simultaneously a whisper in her ear, reverberated in the air around them. _Nor I, you._

And all Hell broke loose.

Zelda watched in awe as a warm, crimson glow engulfed the valley, spreading across the sky and the soaking into the earth. The demon let out a strangled cry before succumbing. The earth split open in the middle of the circle that Zelda had cast, and Pesta’s body slumped over, dangerously close to the chasm. Zelda leapt forward, hoping to catch her before she fell. Sabrina grabbed her elbow, shaking her head. _She’s gone_ , she mouthed. Zelda nodded. They watched as both the demon and the witch, hopelessly intertwined, were swallowed by grey mist, more and more of which was being funneled downwards in a great, putrefied mass.

The slit in the mud closed as quickly as it had opened, and Zelda and Sabrina stared at the place where the rot had vanished. Over the horizon, a pink glow was beginning to paint the clouds for the first time in weeks. Rays of golden sunlight spread out across the valley, seeming to set the fields of wheat and wildflowers ablaze in streaks of orange, pink, and red. The wind rustled through the pines and across the meadows, bringing with it the sweet scent of nectar and fresh grass. Even the marsh had lost its fetid stench. The reeds were swaying slowly in the morning light, casting long, blue shadows across the clearing where, minutes before, the earth had been a gaping maw.

“Zelds?” A voice called weakly. Though no longer bound in slimy tendrils, Hilda was looking rather worse for wear. 

She went to her sister, and cupped her face in her hands. “Hildie,” she breathed. “You’re alright.” She pulled away slightly to examine the lacerations and pustules she was expecting to find, but found nothing other than smooth skin. “Praise Lilith.” 

Hilda blinked in surprise, and stretched her limbs, furling and unfurling her fingers carefully. “It certainly appears that way.” She looked at Zelda, whose face was contorted in what felt like a permanent grimace. “It’s alright, Zelds. Look after the others. I’m fine.” She coughed weakly, which aroused Zelda’s suspicion somewhat. For the most part, though, it did seem that Hilda had made it through the encounter relatively unscathed.

With Sabrina tending to Ambrose, she turned her attention to Mary, who was still unconscious. She took Mary in her arms and brushed the hair away from her face. “Mary? Mary! Wake up! Please!” 

A sputtering cough and a weak sigh. Mary opened her eyes, brilliantly blue in the morning light. “Zelda. You came.”

Zelda laughed softly, her voice thick with tears. “Of course I did.” She buried her face in Mary’s hair, weeping quietly with relief. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth right away. And -”

Her apology was cut short as Mary pulled her into a deep kiss. The other woman somehow still smelled faintly of vanilla and peonies, despite having been slathered in otherworldly muck for most of the night. Zelda moaned softly. Mary’s hands were light as birds on her back, gently keeping her close. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them. Zelda shot a glare to the right, only to be met with three confused pairs of eyes. Hilda seemed to nominate herself to speak first, though it was clear that the sentiment was shared by all three of them. “I mean this in the kindest possible way, Zelds, but have you lost your blessed mind?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, we're done!  
> Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story. I couldn't have finished it without your support.  
> Please let me know how you liked the ending! Your comments mean the world to me, and they never fail to make my day.

Sabrina took Zelda by the elbow and led her to the hearse, leaving behind a nervous Mary, still fiddling with her glasses.

“Really? You?” she wrinkled her nose in confusion and horror. “With… her?” 

Zelda was shocked. She would never have expected Sabrina, or any of the remaining Spellmans, to have a problem with her dating another woman; to her memory, Hilda and her had agreed that their family would never be that closed-minded. Zelda wracked her brain, trying desperately to think of instances during which Sabrina would have demonstrated an inclination one way or the other. No. It was impossible. She had a close friend who was trans, for Lilith’s sake. She had a pansexual cousin. Was it only with her that Sabrina might see a problem? Was it too much for her to see her aunt behaving in a way she didn’t recognize?

Zelda felt a sudden wave of embarrassment and shame. She realized her mouth was agape in confusion and hurt and quickly shut it, tilting her chin upwards. Her bottom lip quivered in defiance for a moment before she could steady that, too.

“I must say I’m surprised, Sabrina.” She kept her voice steady, her tone calm. “I wouldn’t have thought you would have a problem with this at all.”

Sabrina squinted her eyes for a moment. “Are you joking?”

A tear escaped from Zelda’s weaker left duct. She furiously wiped it away. “Are _you_?” To her horror, her voice cracked.

Her niece looked at her quizzically for a moment. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Oh, no. Auntie.” Her voice was quiet and soft. “This is all a huge misunderstanding.”

Zelda felt her heart beating in her ears. She sniffled. “Enlighten me.”

Sabrina stepped forward, hurt flashing in her eyes when Zelda instinctively shifted away from her. She held up her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I was only talking about the fact that Ms. Wardwell tried to _murder_ you, aunt Zee.”

Her aunt looked at her for a moment, then released a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding. “Oh.”

Sabrina bit her lip. “Yeah. So… what’s up with that?”

If there was ever a time to be blasé in an effort to cover up her humiliation, this was it. Zelda waved her hand in Mary’s general direction. “Oh, you know. It was so long ago.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “A few weeks?”

Zelda shrugged. “Still.”

Silence curled upward, filling the space between them like the smoke from Zelda’s cigarettes. Sabrina stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her aunt, grateful that Zelda hadn’t tried to back away again. Zelda stood absolutely still for a moment, too surprised to react. Slowly, she allowed herself to lean her head onto Sabrina’s. Relief flooded her chest and eased her breathing. 

After a long moment, Sabrina stepped back to look into her aunt’s face. “Aunt Zee, I love you, and I think you should date anyone you want. I just want you to be happy.” She looked pointedly towards Mary. “And safe.”

Zelda nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She cleared her throat and gave her niece an earnest, watery smile, wiping underneath her eyes carefully with her thumb. “There’s no need to apologize, Sabrina. I never should have assumed that that was what was bothering you. I understand why you are concerned, given my dating history. But I assure you -” She shook her head and closed her eyes “ - this situation is quite unlike the one involving the fiend, Blackwood. It’s … different. With Mary. I trust her.” She opened her eyes to meet Sabrina’s dark, anxious ones. “That being said, I want you to feel comfortable with the people I’m bringing into your life. In the end, you have a greater say than I. I’m just asking you to try to get to know her.” She spoke quickly, as if to overtake the unspoken apologies that hung in the air.

Sabrina nodded. “I understand. She used to be my favourite teacher, after all. Before she shot you.” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, trying and failing to mask her mystification.

Zelda shrugged. She decided that, for the time being, it was best to sidestep the questions, both literally and figuratively. She would answer to her family later. For now, it was time for her to finish her conversation with Mary. She was grateful that that was even a possibility, considering the fact that Pesta had almost succeeded in destroying everything she cared about in a misguided ploy for revenge. 

She walked over to Mary and held out her hand, ignoring Hilda and Ambrose’s questioning looks. Sabrina could fill them in. Mary looked up at her and grabbed her hand, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Mud caked her sweater, and she still wasn’t wearing any shoes. _That makes two of us_ , Zelda thought. They both looked patently ridiculous, but it was only to be expected after a night like the one they had both been through. She reached up to smooth Mary’s muddy, tangled hair, and sucked in a breath when Mary reached up to do the same for her. Mary’s face broke out in a smile, and Zelda followed suit immediately. The tension between them was still there, but it felt different than it had before. A small ray of hope bloomed and settled in her chest. Perhaps there was a chance for them. She wouldn’t even allow herself to finish formulating the thought. The small fluttering thing in her chest was too fragile. Her breath hitched in her throat, willing Mary to speak. Whatever the other woman had to say could result in the shattering of an illusion, or the fulfilment of the flimsiest of her desperate hopes, but she needed to get on with saying it, so that Zelda could decide what to do with herself. It had been a long night.

“I’m still angry with you.”

Zelda’s lip quivered slightly, and her stomach turned in revulsion at the rejection she had inadvertently set herself up for. Her mind was blank, and her most bogus smile was plastered on her face in an instant. “I understand. I’m glad you’re alright, and I’m sure that Hilda - ” she shot a sharp glance in her sister’s direction “- is more than capable of driving you home. You must be eager to get back to your cottage and your life.” Her voice sounded robotic, and several octaves higher than her regular register. Mary flinched, and Zelda chided herself for the spectacular failure that was her performance of composure. There was no way that she was getting in that car. She would walk home, crawl into bed, and remain there. Some convincing would be needed, but she was sure she could persuade Hilda to allow her to take her meals in her room. She would remain in solitude, cloistered like one of the False God’s nuns, and never encounter this particular feeling again as long as she lived.

Mary ran her hands over Zelda’s face, who stood, a grimace still frozen on her face. She looked up at Zelda, her eyes confused and earnest, searching the witch’s face for any trace of sincerity. “But I want to be with you,” Mary offered softly. 

Zelda looked at her in disbelief. “What?” 

Mary kept her hands on her cheeks, her blue eyes trained on her own. Zelda could feel every beat of her heart in her ears, and it took everything in her not to melt into the other woman’s embrace. Surely, she had heard incorrectly. “I’m still angry about the fact that you didn’t tell me the truth sooner. About Adam, and about Lilith.” Mary sighed and bowed her head slightly, her eyes downcast. Zelda wanted nothing more than to put her arms around her, but she was frozen, too nervous to draw breath, arms awkwardly fastened to her sides. “But I know you didn’t have anything to do with his death. And that’s enough for me.”

Zelda shook her head vehemently. “I would _never_ have hurt your fiance. I am so sorry that he was caught in this crossfire. I loathe the thing that killed him as much as you do. And clearly -” she looked toward the muddied pit where Pesta and the demon had fallen through the earth - “there are still loyalties that remain. Factions of his supporters that will have to be taken down.” Her voice took on a hard edge. ‘But we _will_ take them down, Mary. And him alongside them. I will not rest until it is done, and all of us are safe.” She meant it. The months since she had turned her back on Satan and the doctrines of the Church of Night had been agonizing. She had never in her long life felt so unsure of herself, and so alone. The all-consuming devotion, the desperation to prove herself to her family and to him, had been supplanted almost immediately by an equally potent combination of rage and resentment. She had needed it to feel alive. To feel like herself. She was terrified of feeling nothing where previously there had been _something_ \- a sense of duty, a clean distinction between what was right and what was wrong. She wasn’t accustomed to trafficking in grey areas. They were too murky, too liquid. 

Mary seemed to sense her fear. She looked up at her and smiled softly. “I know.” There was a certainty and a trust in Mary’s eyes, and it made Zelda’s heart swell with pride.

Unfortunately, there was something else that was nagging at her. And she was sure that if she let the moment between them pass, she would never bring it up again. Against all of her better instincts, she made up her mind to ask the question that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answer to. “Were you awake? During the exorcism?” 

Mary looked at her incredulously. She seemed as though she had been expecting it. “Does it matter?”

Zelda nodded, her heart in her throat. She was certain she could guess the answer.

“Yes,” Mary sighed. “I was floating in and out of consciousness, but I remember the vast majority of the experience. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” 

Zelda finally felt something in her snap, and she shook herself out of her frozen state to gather Mary in her arms. To her great relief, she allowed herself to be held, and lay her head against Zelda’s chest, burying her face in her hair. The witch shook her head. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember it.”

Mary shifted slightly, but made no move to leave the safety of Zelda’s arms. “I do. But it’s alright.” Her voice was muffled. “None of what he said to you was true, by the way. I want you to know that.”

Zelda froze. She hadn't even considered the possibility that her all-too public excoriation would be remembered, let alone brought up. “I really don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I’m _proud_ of you.” Mary swallowed nervously. “I know what the worst voices in our heads can sound like. How unforgiving they can be. You don’t need to hide that from me.” She paused briefly to gauge Zelda’s reaction, and continued when there she nodded. “Whatever that demon said to you, you must know that he wasn’t speaking with any kind of authority. He was preying on your -”

“Shame,” Zelda finished absently. “I know. I just -” she shifted uncomfortably “wasn’t prepared for it all to be aired out in front of everyone I care about.” 

Mary smiled and took her hand. “If you ask me, nothing at all has changed in terms of their feelings for you. In fact, I would be willing to bet that they are as proud of you as I am.” She stroked Zelda’s cheek. “It’s hard to believe, but you don’t need to hide your feelings and protect the world from yourself. Loving and knowing can run a parallel course. You don’t have to be afraid of being seen by the people who love you.”

Zelda trained her gaze on Mary. “Do you?” She closed her eyes. “Love me, I mean?”

Mary looked at her for a long moment. “I’ve only just begun to know you, Zelda. But the more I know you, the more I know that I _will_ love you. Do you understand? I’m only human, and these things take time.”

Zelda let out a shaky breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. It’s all so very new to me.” She opened her eyes. “I never knew what Sabrina and Hilda were endlessly fussing about, if I’m being perfectly honest. It seemed to me like an asinine inside joke that they insisted on keeping me out of.” She laughed quietly to herself. “Saying it out loud to you now, it seems ridiculous.” 

“Not to me,” Mary offered. “Witches don’t really _do_ love very often, do they?”

Zelda shook her head. “Not in the way that mortals do. I love my family, and obviously I’ve encountered attraction, but I confess that romantic love has been outside the realm of my experience, thus far.” _Until you_.

Mary smiled and leaned up to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm, and Zelda’s hands reached instinctively to Mary’s neck. She caressed the back of her head, moving her hand slowly through the tangled black waves, while her other hand floated lightly against Mary’s shoulders. In response, Mary pressed their bodies together, her breath racing as she moved her hands to Zelda’s hips. She touched the small of Zelda’s back and held on tightly, chuckling with pleasure when Zelda let out a slight moan. “Not to worry. I’ll show you the ropes.” 

  
  



End file.
